When In Rome
by CryChick12345
Summary: Percy isn't too ecstatic when he finds out his father is shipping him to Rome for the Summer. What's there for him? No friends, no family, no anything. But all that changes when he meets a local boy named Nico di Angelo. And what happens in Rome stays in Rome. But what repercussions will his actions have when he returns home?


**A/n: Hello everyone! I just wanted to welcome you to a new fan fiction. I hope you enjoy and please leave a comment if you like and want more. Please enjoy my writing and have a fantastic day. See you later, my friends! :D **

**Summary: Percy isn't too ecstatic when he finds out his father is shipping him to Rome for the Summer. What's there for him? No friends, no family, no anything. But all that changes when he meets a local boy named Nico di Angelo. And what happens in Rome stays in Rome. But what repercussions will his actions have when he returns home? **

**Genre: Romance **

**Rating: M for mature (Warning: Sexual content, cursing, and possible drug use) **

**Pairing: Percy and Nico**

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><p><strong>When In Rome<br>Chapter 1: Times Change **

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><p>Italy is officially known as the Italian Republic. Rome is the capital city of Italy. Italian cuisine is popular all around the world. The most popular sport in Italy is football (soccer depending on where you are from). They have architecture and Lamborghini cars. Building such as the Colosseum, Pantheon, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa are all examples of Italian architecture. Leonardo Da Vinci, Galileo Galilei, Alessandro Volta. Verona is the city of love.<p>

And that's all I know about Italy. Nothing else.

And here I am, in Italy, lost as fuck.

But could you expect? A few months prior, when my father first insisted that I sign up for the school's new over-seas group program (pretty much like studying abroad), I instantly knew that I would get lost immediately when arriving in Italy. I warned him countless times that this would be a major failure, but he insisted a d when my father insists something, you listen. Just like I listened when he called me on the phone from California, claiming that my mother sent him the pamphlets from the school (which I know she didn't), and demanding that I filled out the paperwork for the program.

Usually I would have rejected the idea for one simple fact: Money. Traveling costs and my mother and I….well, we're not the wealthiest people. But my father sure as hell is. Rich and wishing to impress his personnel at work. I can hear him now: "Look here at my son, the great Percy Jackson, traveling to Italy to broaden his education. Look how smart my genes made my son!"

Honestly, my father is smart. A genius really. Most people don't figure out how to escape from New York, from the bustle and crowded subway cars, to branch out into their own world. My mother still hasn't gotten it down pat yet, but my father knew what he was doing. He divorced my mother after three years of marriage (I was two at the time), moved down to California, began working as some big shot lawyer, and pretty much forgot about us until my fourteenth birthday. By then he was running his own business, winning huge court cases, and writing his own books. Of course everyone love his business, and his winning streak, and his books, and his damn near perfect looks, his beach blown black hair, his tan, his crisp suits, his white smile, and practically everything else. And then the word got out. Seems that people are less supportive of you once they learn that you left a son and wife up in New York were they were barely struggling by. Yeah, that threw off his game for a while and then he started sending me letters every month, saying he's sorry for leaving us and how much he wants to see his son again. I burned every damn page.

I'm bitter as hell and I know that, but I can't help it.

So, I suppose in his freakish mind everything will be alright if he spends a few thousand dollars to drop his son off in Italy with a bunch of strangers for three weeks. Yeah, thanks dad.

I hope I don't sound too bitchy though. It's not that I'm upset or anything. I mean what kid wouldn't want to go to Italy? It's practically a vacation with a little bit of studying throw in the mix, however, homesickness is the worst disease I've ever had. It hurts. Somewhere deep down in my chest, it hurts like hell. And it's only day one. And I'm still on the plane. And we haven't even taken off yet.

You get the picture though. I don't know what I'm doing and it already feels like I'm in Italy, roaming the street on my own.

The plush airplane seat cradles me like a blanket, reminding me of those cold days in New York when I would wake up only to burrow deeper into my bed with the wavering smell of my mother's cooking filling the apartment. It makes the ach even more vicious. Flight attendants walk up and down the aisles to check seat belts and a woman asks me if I'm alright. I can feel the sweat pour down my face as I shake my head no. The look of sympathy tells all as the pilot comes over the intercom, announcing that we are ready for take-off. Pale fingers curl into the armrest as I feel the plane beginning to ascend down the runway. I can hear the engine as we clamber down the airstrip quickly, wobbling as we move. I am going to puke. I am literally going to puke.

"Hey…. You alright?" I ram backwards into the plane seat hard enough to give me whiplash. The girl beside me sniggers gently, her laugh sounding similar to the noise of a church bell: bright, airy, and alert. The simple fact of her voice being so spectacular is enough to startle anyone; however, I got an extra shock plainly because I wasn't prepared to strike up a conversation with anyone. I guess being so conserved in a new place and less open really can get you into trouble. At least, if I had talked to someone prior to now I might've still had a neck that isn't broken.

"Your first time flying." She guessed, pointing a persecuting finger in my direction. With her other hand she begins rutting her hand through her hair, managing all the tangles out of the sea of gold that she locks. With a flicker of her aqua eyes, her lips purse into a quaint smile, obviously amused by my little worrying act. A chilled, laidback demeanor automatically clambered over my body as she pressed a tan hand flat against my chest. She was listening to my heart beat. The panicked, out of control, completely deranged beat of my heart.

"Your chest is fluttering like a hummingbird." The beautiful, poetic simile flowed from her lips like a trail of silk, making me feel like I was in the presence of a goddess. The way she presented herself, so high and so mighty, it made her seem like one of those actors on TV, valiantly heading out to vanquish a dragon in their shinning suits of armor.

Before I can manage to utter another word she is patting my hand temperamentally, poking my tightly clenched fingers on the arm rest and assessing my current state of distress.

"You realize there is no need for so much worry, right?" The girl continues to grill me on my over hyped sense of horror about flying, "The chances of dying in an airplane crash are one in eleven million. It's fact. I remember reading about it in a magazine a couple years ago that they figure the chance of both a plane and car crash. You're more likely to crash into a tree and go flying through a windshield then die in a blaze of fire while on a plane. The charts for a car are a one in five thousand chance. Guess you won't be driving anytime soon."

"Just close your eyes and take a deep breath and then….take the plunge. You look like one of those guys that would be a risk taker so just go for it"

My solemn nod doesn't reassure either of us. With a light agitated sigh, like I've been a burden, she closes her eyes and leans back, following her own advice. The way she props herself up, the way she speaks and moves, you can feel the intelligence radiating off her and I know the best choice of action would be to follow her advice.

With my eyes closed and lips pursed I can feel the slight jerking of the plane. I can hear the whirl of the engine and the chatter of other kids over the noise. And for the first time since I stepped foot out of my house this morning, out of my New York apartment while sharing hugs with my mother and father who flew up from California, I feel at peace. Suddenly, my ears are popping and it hurts like hell to say the least. Clenching my teeth I try my best to plainly block out the feeling. My stomach drops as the plane shuffles slightly, causing it to feel like I'm clambering upwards on a roller coaster. The silence of the entire situation is consuming.

However the hush lasts only for a moment as the woman beside me flicks me in the neck, my eyes opening jaggedly as the breath squeezes from my lungs in shock.

"Ow!" I hiss, holding my neck bitterly. So manly….

"Look, dumbass, we're off the ground." She interrupts my string of personal insults towards me as she points towards the window. I choke down a harsh breath as I realize the ground is no longer under me. I'm flying. I'm actually flying on an airplane. It's one of those holy shit moments.

"Thanks for the alert." I murmur sarcastically under my breath.

"You're welcome." She proceeds with a look of complete and utter inner pride. Shooting me an award winning smile she simply turns back towards the wind and stairs out mystified by the view. It is a pretty sight.

But, to be honest, I think I would rather have solid ground under my heels. Just as a safety measure.

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><p>I don't know how much time has pasted between when we left the airport and when they announce that we are close to Rome, but if feels like a hell of a lot longer that what I was told. Nine hours. They said it would take nine hour to get there via plane, but if feels damn near close to twenty.<p>

Me and the girl I sat next to on the plane were sharing an itinerary when the pilot announced over the intercom that we would be beginning our descend. She simply flashed me a brief smile before looking back at the list, noting the way I already tensed up with the man's words. I swallowed harshly before looking back at the list as the nine hours from New York to Rome I had learned quite a bit about the girl. Her name was Annabeth Chase, a seventeen year old senior from Rochester, New York. She lived with her two step brothers, her step mother, and her father. From her I had learned that the program had spawned interest in students across New York, thirty-seven of them actually applying and gaining entrance. The only reason she had signed up for this program was to study the agriculture of Rome and get away from her family for a while.

She had nearly cried from laughter when I admitted that the only reason I was here was because my father wanted to impress his work buddies.

"So, your father literally said go to Italy so I can impress my friends and you did it?" She asked indignity. I liked the cute little snort in her voice as she laughed.

"Yeah, I mean what was I supposed to do?"

"Say no!" Once again Annabeth laughed, loudly and bluntly.

Nodding my head, feeling the choke in my voice as the plane begins to descend, I hold up the itinerary again. I'm shaking to be honest and I can barely focus on the words:

-**Day one**- Rome: The heart of Rome  
>-<strong>Day two<strong>- Rome: Rome of the Caesars  
>-<strong>Day three<strong>- Rome: Vatican & St. Peter's  
>-<strong>Day four<strong>- Pompeii, Amalfi Coast, & Capri

Once again laying the paper in my lap, ears popping slightly, as I lean back and close my eyes. This is going to be a long two weeks.

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><p>The plane landed in Rome at around eight thirty a.m. By the time we collected our bags, got downtown, and checked into our hotel, it's eleven a.m. and I'm ready for a nap.<p>

Standing in the middle of the lobby, feeling practically lame in my gray t-shirt with the words "From New York to Rome" cheaply printed on the front, I can't help but feel overwhelmed. This place looks like it would be a home for celebrities or one of those top notch, thousand dollars a night hotels (which it probably is). The lobby looks like it jumped straight from the page of a Good Housekeeping magazine. God, my mother has so many of those laying around the house it's not even funny.

The walls are lined with wall paper, streaked downwards with strips of black, red, and gold. Lines of black leather couches lay underneath individual paintings, the glass light fixtures showering the leather in flecks of silver and causing the fabric to shine. Coffee tables are spread about the room, holding pamphlets, crystal glass jars full of pens, and a nifty little centerpiece full of strange looking flowers.

I'm not much into the culture of Italy or anything, but if everywhere else looked like this place, then I might as well expect a city full of gold. The entire place seems to sparkle with life.

The man over our program, Chiron, glanced towards the grandfather clock as it chimed eleven o'clock. He grimaced lightly before murmuring under his breath, "We're a little behind schedule."

"Oh, stop worrying." Rachel Elizabeth Dare, the other woman over our tour, regarded as she watched the man in the wheel chair with a grin. Just out of high school, she took the job of taking care and leading us throughout Italy. I doubted any of us would be getting lost during this trip. All we had to do was look for her flurry of fiery red hair and follow.

Chiron gave her a strange look before wheeling himself up to the front counter. Rachel followed suit and leaned on the surface as she waited for the man behind the desk to acknowledge them. The young man behind the computer desk was clean and cut, his suit sharp and faces hard set. His amber eyes flickered as he noticed our group gathered behind him. With a scratch of his scruffy beard and a factitious celebrity host smile into the computer screen, he stood up with a spring in his step. Approaching the counter he casted those dark eyes downwards towards Chiron with a grin.

"Ciao! Benvenuti! My name is Adriano and I am the manger of this fine hotel. You must be Rachel Elizabeth Dare and Chiron Halfblood. I have been instructed to ask you to wait for a moment. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but the owner of our establishment would like to speak with you." Adriano admitted with a sheepish look as though he had done something wrong. His deep accent falters towards the end of his admission as he began to stress.

Chiron, on the other hand, merely smiled, looking slightly pleased, "Yes, I was aware that when we arrived there would be a wait. No need to worry."

"Looks like we'll be here for another hour or so," Annabeth whispered under her breath to me as she began to look antsy, "I just want to get going."

"That damn clicking sound is starting to get on my nerves. Makes it seem like it's taking longer." I acknowledged with a quick glance at the grandfather clock, pendulum swinging back and forth within the glass front.

"Oh, thanks for pointing that out. Now I feel ten times more impatient." The chuckle in her voice suggested humor, however, her eyebrows creased into a scowl.

"Hey you guys! You know you can sit down, right? I mean… I'm pretty sure you can." Rachel trailed of as she faced us. Leaning back on the counter casually, arms hanging to the sides and body slack, as she glanced at Adriano, "Can they sit down?"

"Of course they can."

"Okay…You can sit, but I swear if you all break something I'm going to beat you!"

"Rachel, please try to contain your outbursts. We do not need to cause a disruption." Chiron rubbed his temple impatiently.

"Well, if they break it then they are paying for it. I'm not about to pay for any of this shit if it gets busted. I'm broke!"

The slight burst of laughed throughout our crowd was unexpected, but refreshing as well. I smiled quaintly to myself at the thought of the scrawny, fiery little red head trying to make us do anything. I doubt she would amount to much then.

"Well, I'm broke as hell, too." The boy in front of me whispered to himself. Over hearing the comment, I snickered lightly. With a second of hesitation the boy turned so that he was giving me a sideways glance. A smile laced his lips.

"I'm so broke I can't even pay attention." He justified. Once again, I laughed despite how cheesy it was.

He laughed as well, one of those breathy, gasping laughs that always sound like you're about to run out of air, "At least someone around here has a sense of humor."

"I know," I agreed, "It seems like everyone is just trying to stay to themselves at this point. It's just like why not make some friends while you are here. What's the harm in that?"

"Well, at least someone else gets it." He nodded, thinking things over, before extending his hand, "I'm Grover. Grover Underwood, my good sir."

I took his hand gratefully, happy to at least know someone other than Annabeth, "Percy Jackson. Well, Perseus if you want to go by my real name."

"Perseus? Like the Greek legend?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Cool." Grover stated as he seemed to lose interest in our conversation. The silence gave me a chance to get a good look at him.

Tall and lanky, the boy held about two inches over me. He was clad simply in our group t-shirt, a undershirt showing vividly through in all its bright lime green glory, a pair of grass stained and dirt smudged jeans, and black Converse caked in mud. He seemed to be trying to take a slice of New York with him to Rome with all the gunk and grime. The only thing that I could figure was that he was one of those more nature loving people.

My theory was only proven to be valid as he tilted his head to the left, showing off his pierced ear. A tarnish golden chain stretched from his ear, dropping down to his neck with a glass orb welling up at the end in a fragile dome. Within the marble was a wad of moss that seemed to grow before your eyes, health and hardy green.

"Cool earring." I murmured off handedly. He seemed to beam with an abundance of pride over my words, like he was waiting for someone to say something.

"Thanks. I've heard before that they are pretty neat to look at." Grover put up his cool facade although the pride still welled through his mask. With another flickering smile the boy pulled up his string drawn backpack, sitting it on the edge of the coffee table as he began to ruffle through the contents.

The buckles hit the table top with a clatter as the buttons placed firmly on his backpack pockets began to rustle. Leaning out of my chair I took at quick glimpse at the words slurring across the tiny circles. "Green is Great.", "Nature is the real beauty!", "Saving the world, one tree at a time.", "Weed is wonderful.", and "Fuck the communists". He had a very peculiar taste in buttons.

I was about to mention this when Rachel suddenly stood in front of our huddled group, clapping her hands wildly, "Listen up people! And show some respect!"

"This beautiful woman standing beside me," Rachel continued as she motioned her hands up and down before the Italian woman positioned beside her, "is Maria di Angelo. The owner of this very fine hotel."

A roar of claps and appreciation roamed throughout the crowd with enthusiasm. Annabeth glanced around cautiously, making sure Rachel's attention was preoccupied with quieting everyone down, before speaking, "She's so pretty."

I looked at Annabeth with a light smile before running a hand up to her shoulder. It wasn;t really an action I could control, more of an impulse thing, however she didn't seem to mind. Rather she leaned towards me for a moment, allowing the butterflies to start in my stomach, before moving away once more. Grover, who was sitting on the other side of me, watched with complete dedication.

"Your girlfriend?" He questioned under his breath with a raised eyebrow. I looked back at him, cheeks flaring up.

"No… Actually, I just met her this morning."

"Thank you for the applause." The thick Italian accent filled my ears like music as the woman up front captivated my attention once more. She had a power, a quite obvious one. The entire room seemed to have fallen silent just for her, "I would like to welcome you to our fine hotel here. I just wanted to go over some rules with you before we show you your rooms."

"The number one rule at our hotel is to have the guest's comfort at the top of our list, so don't be afraid to ask any worker if you need help with something. This also applies to our other guest, not just you. I know how teenagers are. I have a fifteen year old son and a seventeen year old daughter so I have hands experience with how…excited you all can become, being in a new place and all. My son just got home from seeing his father in America only three months ago and before he left he was bouncing off the walls with excitement. So, I just wanted to ask you all to stay as calm as possible to not disturb our other guests and, if you can, keep you noise to a minimum. Other than that, I just wanted to wish you a enjoyable stay in Rome." The woman spread her arms graciously as she finished her short speech and began to back up.

"Mrs. di Angelo," Rachel interrupted her suddenly, "Is your son going to be participating in our tour of Italy? I thought I he was supposed to be with the program."

"He is." Maria assured with a light nod, "Since he spent so much time in America I figured it would be good for him to also spend some time in Italy. Not just Rome, but all over Italy. He'll probably be ready to start the tour with you this afternoon."

"Thank you." Rachel said with appreciation of the clarification as Chiron handed her a t-shirt that I assumed was for her son. Turning back to us, face still beaming, Rachel clapped her hands again for emphasis.

"Why do you keep clapping?" A high pitched girl's voice echoed through the spacy room as she raised her hand for an answer.

"Because it seems like a very school teacher thing to do." Rachel justified, planting her hands on her hips, "Anyways, I'll be passing around a clipboard. I want everyone to sign up for a room number. Two people per room. Just write you and your roommate's name down."

Immediately when she said two per room I began to sweat. Of course I didn't know what to do. How do you ask someone random if they want to share a room with you? Just walk up and say you want to sleep in the bed next to me for a week?

"Hey Percy, you want to just share a room with me. I don't really know anyone here so…." Grover simply trailed off

"Sure." I agreed simply.

Plopping down onto one of the leather couch, I sat there waiting for the clipboard with the roommate sign ups to come around. And then I saw him.

Stalking across the hotel lobby, hands in jean, black shirt hanging nearly to the knees, I saw him approach the hotel owner with a distinct sense of business. Automatically, I knew who he was.

The boy looked exactly like his mother, only faded. His skin, his hair, his eyes- everything about him was the spitting image of the older woman, but every part of him was also washed out. There was a lack of smile on his lips and a bitter taste in my mouth from the very thought of his presence for the entire trip through Italy.

His skin was splotched with a few patches of sun burn and bruises and scars, however, the actual color was pasty and white, making him look more dead than alive. Long strings of black hair feel awkwardly into his eyes and face, brushing his lips and nose. Eyes were shaded the color of ebony, tiny flecks of amber showing through only to be casted into a more grayish hue.

Tall and lanky body moved across the room seamlessly, however, as he approached his mother. Immediately he began to speak in a hushed tone. And that's when the swarm of butterflies started, crippling any form of reaction I had. His voice, so soft spoken and light, so heavy and beautiful, so curled and twisted. The accent was overwhelming thick making each word he spoke sound exotic. Even more exotic when he switched from English to Italian, the speech losing all sense to me other than that fact that is was so pretty.

"Nico, non discutere!" Maria snapped, holding out the gray t-shirt to Nico. For a moment the boy bared his teeth, looking feral and uncontrollable. His anger boiled and the swarm of red garnished his cheeks.

I watched as Rachel turned away from the two, eyes wide and rolling. Her face told it all: the boy was going to be a complete and utter annoyance. With out missing a beat, Rachel once again clapped her hands, signaling for us to make our way to the elevator. I had been watching the little scene so long that I didn't notice the fact that the clip board had already been passed around and Grover had already written our names down. Standing up mystified, I stepped along with the group, still locking my eyes on him. I ponder his looks for a minute, who he was, what he was really like.

And that's when I realized I now knew his name. Nico… I mouthed the word quietly to myself. Letting the taste shimmer on my mouth. It was spicy in a way and beautiful in another. His name was the sweetest thing that had ever been uttered between my lips and the most sinister thing that has ever been spoken into the is everything all at once.

Grappling for the t-shirt in Maria's hand, pulling it close to his chest in a near protective manner, Nico made a 'hum' noise before storming off. Pacing across the hotel lobby he began moving in my direction. He was looking directly at me. And I could feel the butterflies clawing for a way out of my stomach. They were fluttering hard enough to burst through. My chest was tight as well. They must have migrated upwards. He stared at me, eyes piercing my own, as he march in a direct path towards me. The shorter boy collided with me harshly, however, he simple forced through, not allowing the sudden obstacle to obscure his course. I stumbled sideways, feeling a chill pass through my body as his skin connected with my own. Finding my balance, standing up straighter, I glanced back at him before muttering a single word.

"Asshole." And with that all the mystification and butterflies in my stomach died.


End file.
